This page is also available in / Cette page est également disponible en:
Français (French)
It has been a year of Goldberg Variations – Yunchan Lim, the end of Vikingur Olafsson’s world tour, Mahan Esfahani on harpsichord, a two-guitar version on Warner, a trio version from Evil Penguin, a quiet contemplation recorded in Ely Cathedral. Most of these albums will be talked about for years.
But the choice of record of the year is not just about posterity. It’s about an idea that changed our minds. It might be a concept album, like Anna Fedorova’s interweaving of Gershwin with French swing, or a forgotten stage musical like Kurt Weill’s Love Life, or the demarginalization of such fine composers Vitezslava Kapralova, Walter Kaufmann and Alois Haba. All had their moment in 2025.
I was gripped by a Beethoven symphony cycle conducted by Neville Marriner, an interpretation entirely without affectation. I felt the same regret for times past when listening to box sets of Radu Lupu, Alfred Brendel and Martha Argerich, all immortal, one still alive.
But this was the year that Arvo Pärt emerged as the titan of post-modern music. His 90th birthday was marked by tribute albums from family friend Paavo Järvi and young protégé Georgijs Osokins. The release that best exemplified the Estonian’s profundity came from Munich, from the ECM label that first introduced the world to his music half a lifetime ago.
Titled ‘And I heard a voice’, the album tapped ‘into a boundless vista of faith and hope.’ Even at his most minimalist, Pärt does unexpected things. I wrote in my review: ‘Vox Clamantis, a group of apparently 14 singers, perform a capella under conductor Jaan-Eik Tulve. Just listen. You will not forget this sound for a very long while.’
This page is also available in / Cette page est également disponible en:
Français (French)
